


The Sweet Taste Of Victory

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tennis, Competition, F/M, Family, M/M, Male Slash, Pining, Relationship(s), Sex, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron is a professional tennis player, trying to win Wimbledon. He meets an extremely intriguing man in the staff & players bar, who turns out to be a lot more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written because Wimbledon is back again and I've watched it every year for as long as I can remember, thanks to my Mum. So this is probably all her fault <3

 

 

Agron breathed in deeply. That smell, the smell of Wimbledon. It made his heart speed up every time. He was already grinning by the time he emerged from his car, waving to the fans and stopping briefly to sign autographs. A few asked where Duro was and were disappointed to hear that he’d already arrived ahead of Agron. The same fans asked if it was really true that Duro was engaged to Diona. It was just a tabloid rumour, right? Agron shook his head and tried hard not to laugh at their disappointment.

  
“Sorry, guys. My little brother really is getting married.”

  
He waved at security – Lugo and Rhaskos - as he walked in. He’d played cards with them a lot last year and probably still owed them a few pints. The staff at Wimbledon were awesome, professional on the clock but great company after hours. Lugo passed on the message that Duro and Diona would meet him for lunch. Agron nodded, it was extremely weird to be walking in without Duro. For the first time ever, hey hadn’t travelled together to Wimbledon. Duro and Diona were joined at the hip and making wedding plans and frankly, Agron was glad not to be hearing about it every moment of the day. He still missed having his brother at his side though. Thank God Diona was so awesome. Some of Duro’s previous girlfriends had been fucking terrible company, but Diona was elegant and funny and told jokes as filthy as any player on the tour. She fitted right in.

  
Agron’s cellphone bleeped; another message from a family member. They were all incredibly excited about his tournament chances. Sadly this year his parents hadn't made their usual trip over from Germany to watch him in person – his sister Leonore was expecting her first child any day now and that definitely took priority. Agron had boxed up and mailed two bottles of Leonore’s favourite vodka as a congratulations gift. She’d been griping about the lack of alcohol in her life since getting pregnant.

  
He made a quick visit to his flat in the players’ village, dumping his bags and texting Duro to let him know that he’d arrived, before heading right back to SW19, more specifically, to the bar. After the flying and the car journey from the airport, he really needed a beer. He briefly chatted to a nearby group of groundsmen who were loitering with intent, then slapped hands with Nemetes, the barman on duty again this year, and swapped stories as his first cold British pint of the season was poured.

  
It was when he turned around, licking foam from his lips, that he was greeted by a sight that stopped him dead in his tracks – a small dark-skinned guy with long hair twisted into a single braid down his back. Agron definitely hadn’t seen him before at Wimbledon, but he liked what he saw, a lot – vest top, worn jeans, a layer of necklaces, sandals, a strange twisting neck tattoo, a nicely toned body, and a ridiculously finely-featured face. And there was a free seat at his table.

  
Nemetes laughed at Agron’s poleaxed expression, but kept his mocking views to himself for once as Agron approached the mystery man.

  
“This seat taken?”

  
The man looked up, a smile briefly highlighting his face. Agron felt his heartbeat race a little faster in response. “It’s yours if you want.”

  
Awesome. Agron sat down and tried to keep his eyes on the football match playing on a nearby screen. He really did try, but his gaze was constantly pulled back to the man that he was sharing a table with. The man was fiddling with his cellphone, occasionally looking up at the game, an amused smile pulling at his mouth. Agron was pretty interested in that mouth.

  
He shook himself. He was sat here, like a creeper, like some of the fans who staked out the players’ entrance, and he hadn’t even introduced himself. His mother’s voice scolded him in his head for such a lapse of manners.

  
“Sorry. I’m Agron Bauer.” He offered a friendly, hopefully not too sweaty, hand.

  
The man shook it firmly, his amused expression growing. “Nasir Attasi.”

  
Nasir. Nasir. Nasir. Agron committed the name to memory, and the man’s softly-accented way of pronouncing it. It warmed Agron from the inside out. Fuck. He was beginning to sound like Duro after he’d first met Diona.

  
Not wanting to drop into the sort of painfully awkward silence that could mean the end of anything before it had even begun, Agron commented on the football and managed not to say anything too ridiculous whenever Nasir responded. Nasir’s next words leave him stunned though.

  
“I saw you play at Queens a few weeks back. It was a good match.”

  
Agron managed to make his mouth work. “Thanks. Donar’s always brutal on the other side of the net.”

  
“And he’s beaten you before.”

  
“On hard courts, yeah. But never on grass.”

  
Nasir grinned and Agron mirrored the expression back. Nasir had watched him play, more than once. That was awesome. Then Nasir’s phone chimed and Nasir got to his feet. Agron failed miserably at hiding his disappointment.

  
“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

  
Nasir looked him up and down with just enough heat in his gaze that a certain part of Agron’s anatomy started paying a great deal more attention. Fuck.

  
“Oh, you’ll definitely see me around.”

  
Agron could only stare as Nasir left, without looking back once. Agron smiled dazedly; it was going to be a really good Wimbledon.

  
*

  
Agron got through the first round with minimal trouble. He played on one of the outside courts, Diona and Duro watching and cheering him on. It was a straight sets victory and Agron saluted the stands with a wide grin afterwards. He paused only to thump a fist to his chest and then point it briefly at Duro, who returned the gesture.

  
Later that day, he cheered Duro on as his brother got a first round victory too. Agron took pictures and sent them to his family who texted giddy happiness back. There was a slight ache in his heart. He was looking forward to meeting his soon-to-be-born niece, but he still wished that everybody was here as usual.

  
He hadn’t seen Nasir since that day at the bar. Nemetes wouldn’t tell him who Nasir was, which department he worked in, how long he’d been around, what he liked. The shit just laughed and said that Agron was fucking in for it. That only served to make Agron even more eager to see the little man again.

  
There! Agron jerked an iPod earbud out of his ear and zeroed in on the fleeting sight of Nasir walking through the hallway, talking seriously to one of the stewards. His all-business expression was the only reason that Agron didn’t go bounding over. So Nasir had to be on staff, that was somewhere to start. Agron wanted to see the man smile again.

  
But he had tennis to concentrate on – he'd gotten to the semi-finals here last year and he was determined to go all the way this time. It was a goal his whole team was totally focused on; his coach, Dashal, and his manager, and everybody else. Agron was going to make it happen. He could do it. So tennis was the focus. Nasir was a distraction, but he couldn't be a dangerous one. No way.

  
Agron just kept a keen eye out for him. He didn't have to wait long for another sighting.

  
When he walked out onto court for his second round match, Agron was focused. Diona and Duro weren't there this time – Duro had a match starting at the same time so of course Diona was watching him. Agron didn't spare more than a glance for the crowds, waving as he did so and nodding briefly at Dashal. Then he sat down and sorted through his equipment, doing everything in a certain order, mentally running through the plan that he and Dashal had worked on for the match. It was when he looked up, at the noise of the umpire settling into his chair, that Agron froze for a couple of seconds. The cameras probably didn't even pick up on it.

  
Nasir was sat in the umpire's chair.

  
Agron blinked. He could be hallucinating. He'd been thinking about Nasir a lot lately. But no, the younger man was still there, dressed in the regulation All-England Club uniform of cream trousers, sky-blue shirt, and navy blazer with cream piping. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his tattoo and jewellery were all hidden, except for a wicked-looking wooden spike that he wore through one of his earlobes. He was a total professional and he didn't even spare Agron a single glance. Agron was only hurt for a brief moment.

  
Nasir had a job to do. And so did Agron.

  
Okay then. An additional problem to work into the plan. The man he'd been searching for for the past day or so had the best seat in the house for his tennis game. And they couldn't talk. Not right now. Who knew when? Were there any rules about hitting on the umpires? Duro was going to find this hilarious.

  
Agron shook his head, grabbed his racket, and made his way onto court. Nasir joined him for the coin toss. Agron managed to catch his eye. Nasir's mouth pulled into a slight smile, nothing that the commentators would find unusual, and got back to the matter in hand. Agron smiled to himself, Nasir hadn't completely ignored him.

  
Now it was time to win.

  
Agron focused on his opponent and weirdly, Nasir’s voice amplified by the microphone didn’t put him off at all. In fact, it helped him focus. Agron was hitting great shots pretty consistently and his opponent couldn’t keep up. Nasir turned out to be a good umpire too – he kept total control of the match, despite his rookie status and slight stature, and was both firm and respectful. Agron was hyper-aware of his presence but he was equally aware of the multiple cameras and his coach’s keen eye, so he kept his glances towards Nasir as casual and as infrequent as possible. It was a tough ask but Agron managed it.

  
He won the match in just about straight sets. Thank fuck. He thumped his chest and clenched his fist over his heart. Nasir nodded at him, the most professional of congratulations but it made Agron’s heart flip. When he shook Nasir’s hand, he squeezed it for a moment more than necessary. Nasir returned the pressure without a hint of a telling smile and then gathered his stuff to promptly leave the court.

  
Anyone who noticed Agron’s dopey grin would assume that it was caused by his victory, and it was. But it was also because of the umpire. Nasir was an umpire, a damn good one. Now Agron had somewhere to start.

*

  
It really helped to be friends with the staff. Once it got out just who Agron was intently interested in, he got a lot of very useful help. Sibyl, who cleaned the officials area, slipped him Nasir’s room number. Awesome. He kept seeing Nasir – brief encounters, passing in the hallways, amongst a crowd outside on the pavement, bunched in with friends at the bar. There was never any time for them to talk though. They did exchange greetings and smiles and some very heated looks, but that was all. Wimbledon was busy madness for them both. It fucking figured that Agron would find somebody so attractive and interesting at the most inconvenient time possible.

  
Duro laughed at him a lot. Diona just grinned knowingly, which was just as fucking annoying. Clearly she’d been spending way too much time with Duro.

  
Lugo let Agron know about Nasir’s daily walk routine. Perfect. Agron needed a regular run too. The next day, he pulled on his running shoes and headed off to create a purposeful meeting. Wimbledon was only a fortnight. Who knew when he’d see Nasir again? The thought of not seeing him for weeks, even months, was already unacceptable.

  
Sure enough, there was Nasir rounding the next corner. He looked relaxed and content, sunnies on and iPod plugged in. He smiled widely when he caught sight of Agron. Agron couldn’t help grinning back.

  
“What a coincidence.”

  
Nasir rolled his eyes in reply but he didn’t accuse Agron of being a stalker or tell him to leave so Agron fell into step beside him. Their arms brushed.

  
“Your work’s good out there,” Agron told him, because it was and Nasir was a rookie and maybe no one had complimented him yet. “Some of the fucks who officiate…..it’s like they want both players to lose.”

  
Nasir chuckled. “No names?”

  
“It’s more fun this way, letting you find out for yourself, you know, the horrors of the circuit.”

  
Nasir snorted, seeming deeply amused, but he asked about Agron’s last match at the Australian Open and it turned out that he’d been there and that was really awesome. Agron knew that he was grinning stupidly again but he couldn’t help it, not around Nasir. He tried to persuade Nasir to explain what his neck tattoo meant but Nasir refused point blank, so they talked instead about the different countries they’d worked in and the tennis clubs there and how they varied and the colleagues they had in common. It was a good way to spend a few hours; talking with a gorgeous man and feeling his sun-warm skin against yours.

  
Agron drank in his presence like a dying man. He didn’t want the walk to end. Where would Nasir be working next? Would Agron’s path cross his again? God, he really hoped so.

  
When they reached the All-England Club, Agron turned with a hint of desperation. “Strawberries?”

  
Nasir’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Strawberries and cream at Wimbledon?”

  
“It's a cliché for a reason.”

  
Agron smiled winningly but Nasir shook his head, regret clear in his body language. “Sounds fun, but I can’t.”

  
It felt like a really heavy rock had dropped into Agron’s stomach. Then his brain caught up with Nasir’s exact words – can’t. He hadn’t said that he didn’t _want_ to spend more time with Agron. Agron’s grin was back in full force and he pressed a little more into Nasir’s personal space. Nasir looked very amused again and he didn’t push Agron away.

  
“If we spend more time together or date…..” Agron smiled at that word. Date. Nasir had thought about them dating. “The players will complain because I’ll probably umpire some of your matches if you keep progressing.”

  
That made sense. If Agron found out that an opponent was dating their match’s umpire, he’d definitely protest to the stewards. And Nasir was just starting out and something like that could damage his reputation. It could even cripple his career. Agron definitely didn’t want to do that.

  
So he stilled for a terrible aching moment, thinking that that was it, that he’d finally found somebody so completely intoxicating only to find that they were literally out of his reach. It felt as painful as hitting that fateful stroke that had cost him last year's Wimbledon semi-final.

  
Then Nasir nudged him gently and was he still smiling? “I’ll ask not to officiate any Bauer matches.”

  
Agron stared for a second. Nasir wanted to date him so he was going to miss out on precious work? Because he wanted to date Agron that much? Agron swept him into a sudden hug, his lips brushing Nasir’s shoulder. Nasir laughed into his skin and stroked his back.

  
“So no talk of dating until I talk to my bosses, okay?”

  
“No, but I'll take it.”

  
“Good.”

  
Nasir's smile was dazzling and Agron couldn't resist dipping closer to steal a brief kiss. He savoured the taste – sweat, trail mix, and something just purely Nasir. He wanted more, as soon as possible. Nasir responded by pinching him hard.

  
“Playing dirty.”

  
“Punishing me?”

  
Nasir's smile turned sly and sharp and did very awesome things to Agron's insides. “Oh, this is only the beginning of what I'm going to do to you.”

  
Agron swallowed hard.


	2. Chapter 2

Semi-Finals Day. Again.

  
Agron stared into the mirror as he shaved. Semi-Finals Day and he was facing Spartacus Demos. It’d been pretty much inevitable – as the top two players in the rankings, Spartacus and Crixus had been placed on opposite sides of the draw and the hope was that they’d be the ones meeting in the final for a replay of last year’s epic clash. Spartacus had spectacularly dethroned Crixus – winner of three Wimbledon titles in a row. It was talked of as one of the best tennis matches seen in the modern era. If they met in the final again this year, the buzz was that it might be even more amazing, especially after their recent tense match at the American Open that Crixus had won.

  
Well. Agron tapped his razor against the sink and grinned. He had something to say about that.

  
He’d beaten Crixus before, several times, and the Gaul had beaten him too. In fact, Crixus was one of Agron's favourite opponents because he really wanted to fucking beat him. And he knew that Crixus felt the same way about him. The crowds, and the press, loved that.

  
Agron really wanted to wipe the smug look off Crixus’s face again. Duro wanted that too - only two days ago, Crixus had knocked him out at the quarter-final stage. That was a little added incentive for Agron.

  
Spartacus was his final obstacle on the road to crushing Crixus. And he wasn’t going to be a pushover.

  
Spartacus was the most exciting player and powerful to emerge since Gannicus had dominated the game almost a decade before. And Agron liked him; Spartacus was serious and focused and had an effortless playing style that was brain-achingly amazing to watch. It was a pain in the arse to play against though, because he seemed to be everywhere at once. Unlike Crixus who played an extremely hard-hitting power game, Spartacus’s strength was his sheer stamina and athleticism. He didn’t give up and he didn’t tire easily.

  
Agron socialised with him off the court. Spartacus’s wife, Sura, was a close friend of Diona’s. He liked playing Spartacus, because if Spartacus won, there was no shame in losing to the best in the world. Agron respected Spartacus and liked his company. Under duress, he’d even admit that he respected Crixus – the man played fair, didn’t court the media, and just got on with the job. The only thing he cared more about than tennis was his wife Naevia, who’d taken the women’s game by storm recently. Sometimes Crixus seemed more proud of her victories than his own.

  
Proudly watching Nasir triumph in keeping order during games that featured some of the most temperamental bastards on the circuit made Agron feel a little bit like he had something in common with Crixus. Not that he’d ever tell the Gaul that.

  
Agron rinsed his razor and checked his face a final time in the mirror. His phone beeped with a message alert.

  
_See you afterwards_

  
Agron grinned stupidly. He and Nasir hadn’t spent any lengthy time together since the day that they'd shared that important morning walk. Just because Nasir had gotten permission from his superiors to not umpire the Bauer brothers’ matches didn’t mean that people wouldn’t talk. Sure, Agron was impatient to jump the guy, but he didn’t want his urgent lust for Nasir to ruin the umpire’s promising career. It sucked but they would hold off on dating until after the tournament was over.

  
So they’d been frequently texting each other instead, and when they had time, actually calling each other.

  
_Not going to wish me luck?_

  
_You don’t need luck._

  
Awesome.

  
Duro hadn’t stopped mocking his brother since he’d first noticed Agron’s infatuation. He claimed it was payback for all the cracks that Agron had made when Duro had first started dating Diona. Fuck, was Agron being as obvious and moony as Duro? Because that shit had been embarrassing to look at.

  
Diona had patted his shoulder consolingly when Agron had buried his face in his hands. “Yeah, but it’s cute too.”

  
Duro had howled with laughter at Agron’s horrified expression. But he’d admitted, when Diona was ordering drinks, that he’d never seen Agron so gone on somebody before and seriously, he’d only kissed the guy once?! Wow, Agron was totally fucking hooked.

  
They’d clinked glasses in a silent toast and Duro had sworn that he’d hold off on sending out a mass family text on the subject until Agron had had a chance to actually go on a date with Nasir. Agron had done the same thing for him when he’d been pursuing Diona.

  
Agron pulled on a crisp white tennis shirt and checked that his necklaces were tucked safely beneath it. He was going to do his best to beat Spartacus, take on Crixus, and then go on a date with Nasir. All three goals  were equally important in his mind, and he had no intention of failing.

  
*

  
The crowd was so loud on Centre Court. Agron could hear them in the tunnel. He grinned when he saw Spartacus waiting there. The Thracian looked relaxed and ready and nodded in greeting. They clasped forearms.

  
“Ready to go and give them a real show?” Agron asked, too quiet for the cameras to pick up.

  
Spartacus smiled the small smile that he reserved for his friends. “Never anything less.”

  
Because that was the thing that some players didn’t get - you had to put on a show. If you didn’t, nobody was interested in watching you get to the top and less people were likely to come watch you play and nobody would sponsor you. You had to be talented, but you had to be entertaining too. And Spartacus might have been mostly serious and focused, but he knew how to give the crowd what they wanted.

  
Agron smiled and walked out onto the court beside him. The noise enveloped him. He waved, turning around to take in every heaving flag-waving side. His gaze lingered on the players’ box. There was Sura, gorgeous and curvy and clasping her and Spartacus’ little son close. She blew a kiss to her husband and waved at Agron. Nearby were Diona and Duro and then the coaching staff. Nasir wouldn’t be there of course. That was the sort of thing that everybody would pick up on.

  
If Nasir was there, he was probably deep in the crowd. Agron hoped so.

  
He sat down and took a deep breath, arranging all his kit.

  
_You don’t need luck._

  
He grinned and got to his feet when the umpire called him to the net for the coin toss.

  
*

  
Spartacus didn’t go easy on him. Of course not. It was the fucking Wimbledon Semi-Final. Agron gritted his teeth and played. The crowd roared for both of them, which was awesome. Agron pumped his fist when he won the second set and grinned at the fans waving German flags.

  
Agron had only ever beaten Spartacus once and that was on a hard court a couple of years ago. But he’d beaten Crixus plenty and Crixus had beaten Spartacus. So anything was possible. He had to keep on believing that.

  
Of course, Spartacus clearly hadn’t gotten that page of the script because he was unrelenting. Agron fed off that. When somebody was that good, you had to raise your game to at least match them; otherwise you got steam-rolled. It was a hot day, the back of his shirt was soaked through with sweat, and there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

  
Well, maybe there was somewhere else involving Nasir. A smile made his mouth twitch and he filed that idea away for later.

  
At the beginning of the fifth set, Agron drained a bottle of water. Unbelievable. He’d pushed Spartacus into losing two sets. That was a new record for him, and the first time this year that anybody had done that to Spartacus. He usually finished people off by the end of the fourth set. Agron’s legs muscles were beginning to burn. Spartacus didn’t look even a little bit tired. Fucker. No matter what Agron's trainer said, all the cardio-training in the world couldn’t prepare you for going toe to toe with the Thracian on a grass court. Spartacus always seemed like he could go for hours.

  
Agron played on.

  
He came close. He almost grasped a match point. But then Spartacus got one and there was no stopping him then, not when he knew that the end was in sight.

  
“Game, set, and match, Demos.”

  
Agron dropped his head. He’d done it again – he'd lost in the Wimbledon Semi-Final. So close and yet so fucking far. But the crowd were cheering and he made his way forward to hug his friend.

  
“Almost had you, fucker.”

  
“I know.”

  
Agron managed to smile and clapped the crowd, mouthing ‘thank you.’ Having their support in a place that loved Spartacus so much was amazing. He’d gotten beaten by the very best. And better Spartacus than Crixus.

He smiled up at his brother, pressing a fist to his chest and then towards him and Diona. Duro mirrored the gesture back, wearing the same ‘what can you do? The bastard’s invincible’ look. Yeah. He’d actually taken Spartacus to five sets. He’d definitely been the toughest opposition for the Thracian this year. Fuck yeah.

  
He looked at the crowds and tried not to be obvious about the fact that he was looking for somebody. Would Nasir make himself known? Or maybe he’d made sure not to come to the match, just in case. Agron shook his head and gathered his kit up. He had autographs to sign, press to meet, and a really long shower to take. Another Wimbledon. One to remember.

  
In the locker room, he checked his phone again. Nasir had sent a smiley face, that was all. Huh. Agron was mystified for a moment but tucked the phone away when his coach and staff arrived for a post-match rundown. Maybe Nasir got that no words could possibly help after a loss like that, when he’d been so close to getting into his first Wimbledon Final. Maybe he really got it.

  
Agron warmed down, stretched out, and showered for a good long time. His muscles ached, but he had duties. So he dragged on a muscle shirt and jeans, along with a sponsor’s cap and jacket, and managed to smile convincingly during the press conference. Yes, he always loved playing Spartacus, he was tough but at least he gave everything and was a challenge. Of course he and Spartacus were still friends; Agron was going to be the first in line to buy him a pint. Yes, he’d thought he could win a few times there, but Spartacus just wouldn’t give an inch. It was why he was the best.

  
Once he was out of the bear pit, Agron grabbed his bags and headed for his flat. He wanted to dump everything out and then think about hitting the bar. Duro had said that they’d be there ‘til late if Agron wanted to join them. His brother got that sometimes, after a loss the last thing you wanted was company. As Agron reached the top of the final set of stairs, he noticed that somebody was waiting outside his flat. A shorter long-haired somebody who was somehow so still and poised in the shadows. A somebody whose body-language he’d been memorising for a while now. Agron’s grip tightened on his bags’ handles.

  
Nasir turned his head when Agron neared. He didn’t smile, but waited for Agron to reach his side. Agron's eyes hungrily roamed Nasir.

  
The umpire raised a previously hidden hand, revealing a heaped bowl. “Strawberries and cream?”

  
Agron threw back his head and laughed. So awesome. Then he pressed a fond hand to Nasir’s face, because he could do that now. Nasir’s skin was warm and smooth and Agron really wanted to keep on exploring it.

  
“You might want to open the door first, mate.”

  
Right. Molesting the guy in the hallway probably wasn’t the ideal way to start celebrating. Agron shook himself and fumbled with the keys, finally getting the right one into the lock so that they could go inside. The place was a bit of a tip, but not too embarrassing. Nasir wandered into the kitchen, to find spoons presumably. Agron dropped his bags and then shoved his sweaty tennis gear into the washing machine for later.

  
Nasir was eating the strawberries. He held out a full spoonful for Agron. Oh fuck. Agron was pretty sure that he’d had a dream like this once.

  
He dipped his head and, not taking his eyes off Nasir, ate the fresh fruit and thick cream with a great deal of pointed relish. Nasir smiled.

  
And leaned close to lick wayward cream off the side of Agron’s mouth.

  
Fuck.

  
“Now who’s playing dirty?”

  
Nasir’s smile grew. “Oh, you’re off the leash now. You can be as dirty as you like.”

Agron didn’t need to hear another syllable. He surged forward, pinning Nasir against the countertop, and fused their lips together. Fucking finally. He lapped at Nasir’s mouth, desperate for entry. He could taste cream and the tartness of the berries and fucking Nasir, just him. Nasir groaned and wrapped his arms around Agron, digging his hands in and opening his mouth. One leg wrapped around Agron’s waist. Neither of them were wasting any more time.

  
Agron broke away for a second, to draw in some ragged breaths. Nasir was wild-eyed and rubbing against him impatiently. It was one of the hottest things that Agron had ever seen.

  
With another surge of movement, he grasped Nasir’s waist and lifted. Nasir immediately wrapped his other leg around Agron and started chewing on the German’s neck. Agron let out a strangled moan as he tried to both keep his legs steady and find his way to the bedroom. Thank fuck his bed was so big.

  
Once horizontal, they both shifted to pull each other’s clothes off, eager to see and feel skin. Nasir flipped them so that he was on top; he looked positively primal – his skin glowing in the late afternoon sun. Agron dazedly remembered the cool and collected man he’d first met in the staff bar, so different to the wild creature currently straddling him. Agron had done that.

  
He didn’t have time to gloat. Nasir slithered down his body and started licking at his cock. Agron’s hips jerked upwards immediately.

  
“Fuck! Sorry. No warning. I…”

  
Nasir licked again, and flashed the filthiest smile ever. “If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t be down here, would I?”

  
Holy shit. Agron’s hips pistoned and his hands scrabbled to bury themselves in Nasir’s long tuggable hair. Nasir just sucked down Agron’s hard length and continued to pay it extremely enthusiastic attention. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Agron was sure that he was seeing stars. The pressure of wet heat around his cock was perfect. So perfect in fact that Agron wasn’t going to last much longer.

  
“Ah…stop, I’m going to…”

  
Nasir hummed around Agron’s cock, the vibrations making Agron moan again. Fuck. Even better. But Nasir got the message and slid back up to pounce on Agron’s lips, one hand clawing at the bedside drawer.

  
“You’d better have…”

  
“Right here.”

  
Agron revealed a half-empty bottle of lube wedged under his pillow. Nasir pulled back, giving his bed partner a familiar amused look. Agron gave a similar look right back.

  
“You made me wait. How do you think I’ve been dealing with that?”

  
Nasir’s eyes darkened. Yep, Agron’s thoughts had been full of that look ever since their morning walk together. He’d found himself jerking off most evenings, fingers inside as well as out. Nasir sucked a mark just below Agron’s nipple with a vicious little twist of teeth. Agron’s heartbeat skipped.

  
His own eyes went dark when Nasir coated fingers with lube and started to thoroughly work Agron open, one finger at a time. Agron closed his eyes and tried to breathe regularly. He didn’t want to pass out and miss a single moment. God, it felt good.

  
Nasir sucked another mark onto his chest. Agron tugged at his hair, an action that got Nasir to make a really fascinating noise. Oh, Agron was going to have fun with that later.

  
Three fingers deep, Nasir held out his free hand for a condom, Agron supplied one with a weak smirk. No negotiations needed, he was totally fine with enjoying the view from the bottom. They had time to play around after all. And they would, if Agron had anything to say about it.

  
Condom fitted, Nasir slid his fingers out and started working his cock in. Agron let out a tortured whine. It’d been a while since he’d bottomed, but Nasir very clearly knew what he was doing and Agron was determined to enjoy every second. They hadn’t known each other all that long, but he trusted Nasir on a bone-deep level that he found hard to explain.

  
It didn’t take long for Nasir to get fully sheathed and after a series of long drawn-out kisses, he started to move. Agron braced himself against the headboard and watching, transfixed, as Nasir’s necklaces clacked together and Nasir’s mouth gaped open and shit, he was doing that. He was unravelling this amazingly controlled and awesomely hot human being.

  
Agron started meeting Nasir’s thrusts with hip-rolls of his own, gaining a perfect raw noise from Nasir. Oh God. Agron bent his knees, trying to give Nasir more room, more leverage. Nasir positioned one of Agron’s legs over his shoulder, gripping the leg tightly, biting his lip. The thrusts got faster. Agron reached up and grasped a handful of Nasir’s hair.

  
Nasir tipped right over the edge with several powerful thrusts, gorgeous sounds spilling from his mouth. Transfixed by the sight, Agron followed very soon after.

  
Their breathing was heavy and loud. Agron dropped his leg down and felt around for his muscle shirt. He was going to wash it anyway. Nasir had withdrawn and collapsed onto Agron's shoulder, laughing softly. He still looked beautiful. Agron couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as he wiped their chests clean. Nasir curled closer, his head resting on Agron.

  
“Fucking worth the wait,” Agron murmured.

  
Nasir huffed out more laughter. “There’s a bottle under my flat’s pillow too.”

  
Fuck. Nasir, gasping and moaning as he fingered himself, thinking about Agron, more than once. Agron pulled him closer and kissed down his jawline.

  
“Let me watch next time and we’ll call it almost even.”

  
Nasir snorted but tilted his head to give Agron better access. “Only if I can watch next time too.”

  
Thank fuck. There was going to be a next time. Relief and lust swooped through Agron’s chest and he nibbled at Nasir’s lips before a sudden thought made him pull back.

  
“You’re still going to umpire, right? At the other Slams?”

  
Nasir looked at him, expression warm and happy as he touched Agron’s face with a tenderness that made Agron’s heart shudder. “As long as it’s not your match or Duro’s, I can umpire wherever the fuck I want.”

  
Yes! So the Slams were theirs, if they wanted. Agron’s hands traced Nasir’s lips, before carding through his necklaces. They stared at each other. They both wanted there to be some ‘next times.’ Agron wanted them to be unending.

  
His stomach rumbled, causing him to grin. “There’s beer in the kitchen. And strawberries and cream.”

  
“To keep up our stamina?”

  
“Fuck yeah.”

  
They didn’t sleep until well into the early hours of the next morning. And Nasir still wouldn’t tell Agron what his neck tattoo meant.

  
That was fine. Agron had months, maybe even years if he had his way, in which to find out. God, he literally couldn't wait.

_-the end_


End file.
